On Reflection
by Morbidmuch
Summary: In which Severus does some reflecting about his reflection.


Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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**On Reflection**

Severus Snape was not a vain man. Vanity was for those with pride in their appearance, regardless of whether their looks were admired by society or not. Truth be told, he tended not to think about his appearance at all and the only time he was faced with his own reflection was during his morning shave. Even then his eyes rarely strayed from the task at hand. He knew what he looked like, there was little need for further scrutiny.

It was a strange thing then, given his dislikefor the studying of one's reflection that this was precisely what Severus Snape was doing at that moment. It wasn't in some futile attempt to find something redeemable about his unpleasant face, though. Rather it was his meeting with Minerva earlier in the day in which she had remarked on the streaks of grey in his black hair which had propelled him to inspecthis appearance when he arrived back at Spinner's End. After all, he had not yet turned 50 and should therefore not be subjected to grey hairs for quite a few years yet. But Severus had lived a difficult and stressful life, and his body wore the signs of it. The lines on his face were deeper than they should have been, his nerves arched with the cold (an after effect of the number of times he'd been Crucio'd) and his back started hurting after a mere eight hours bent over a cauldron.

Severus snorted. Pathetic.

His sudden interest in his appearance had, contrary to one may think, little to do with vanity. Severus had stopped caring what other people thought about him a long time ago, and anyone who thought differently could fuck off for all he cared. Instead, it had more to do with how his appearance would reflect on his wife. Oh, Hermione wouldn't care one bit, he knew that. She seemed to find his haggard looks pleasing, which said more about her than it did about him. His young wife (who wasn't so young anymore, only a few months shy of her 30th birthday) however, barely looked different than she'd done after the war. Her frame had filled out; now there were curves instead of the near skeletal look that spoke of how scarce food had been on their year on the run, but little else had changed. She wore her hair shorter these days, but it still sparked with magic when she was angry (also, as he had discovered on one titillating night when she was having a particularly intense orgasm) and her face showed little signs of ageing.

Their difference in age didn't bother him much anymore; she was more mature than him in many ways and much more mature than the dunderheads she called friends, but there was something about the newly discovered grey hairs on his head that sent his thoughts racing. No doubt in another twenty or thirty years (assuming she hadn't grown tired of him before then) their appearances would be even more contrasting than they already were. Luckily, or unluckily depending on how you wanted to look at it, they were both too well known in the wizarding world for anyone to mistake him for her father, or worse, grandfather. Severus shuddered. That was not a happy thought.

He felt the wards shift even before he heard the sound of the Floo, signalling Hermione's homecoming. He could picture her brushing the powder from her robes as she stepped into the living-room, setting down her satchel next to the hearth and remove whatever charms she had on today to coax her hair into submission. She called out his name, but he kept silent. It had become amusing to see how fast she could find him, between the small size of the house and the way their magic always reached out to each other.

Sure enough, her footsteps on the stairs sounded not a minute later, and soon she was standing in the open doorway. Their eyes met through the mirror, and she smiled. "Hello, love. What are you doing?"

"Contemplating whether or not I should try charming my grey hairs black or simply shave it all off and hope it grows back the proper colour."

Laughing, Hermione entered the room. "You've finally noticed them."

His eyebrow shot up. "What do you mean _finally_?"

"I first noticed them last week." Wrapping her arms around him from behind, she pressed her body against his and leaned her head on the side of his shoulder so she could look at him. "They make you look distinguished."

Covering her hands with his, Severus snorted. "You mean they make me look old."

She shook her head, squeezing his hands. "Not at all. You look very handsome, grey hairs or not."

They stood in silence, enjoying each others company for a few minutes before Hermione spoke again. "If you shave your head though, I'm leaving you."

Severus laughed. "Duly noted."

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